


Sealed

by taispeantas_laethuil



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dildos, M/M, Magical Crystals, Sad Porn, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:49:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5275415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taispeantas_laethuil/pseuds/taispeantas_laethuil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bull, Dorian, and ways they are bound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sealed

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS SHORTER AND MUCH SADDER THAN I ORIGINALLY INTENDED TO WRITE, SORRY FOLKS.

Dorian thought, sometimes, that he and the Bull were probably deserving of some kind of medal for the misuse of thaumaturgy. Here they were, in possession of artifacts that could revolutionize the way people communicated and spies gathered information, and what did they use it for? _Pornography_.

…well, to be entirely fair, they were also using the memory crystals to keep in communication with each other and the Inquisition, as well as gather information for the Lucerni, but that wasn’t what they were doing now.

“Look at yourself, kadan,” the Bull rumbled, his teeth scraping sharply along the back of his neck.

Dorian felt a pleasant shiver begin at the base of his spine, and gave himself over to it. “Believe me, I am.”

‘Himself’ in this case was an image, recorded perhaps a year earlier: his body shaved clean of hair as had been the fad at the time, and lacking the scar from an assassination attempt across his rib cage. He was naked, save for the important parts: a pair of silky underthings in the Bull’s favorite shade of pink, a blindfold to match, and his dragon’s tooth necklace. He was stretched out on the bed, his hands crossed at the wrist above his head, his legs spread. He held himself still, but wasn’t tied down: as much as he enjoyed the activity, that hadn’t been exactly what he wanted at the time. It was so trying and thankless, being Magister Pavus, and it had been months since they’d last held each other. He’d merely wanted to do something good for the Bull, with the knowledge that he would be rewarded for his efforts.

“How did it feel?” the Bull asked.

“Liberating,” Dorian replied.

The Bull chuckled, not unkindly. “I’m glad to hear it, but that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?” Dorian asked. “How did you mean it then?”

The Bull pulled him back with his arms tight across Dorian’s chest, so that he was flush against him, without room to do much more than squirm. Dorian ground back against him, and was rewarded with a growl he could feel in his bones.

“I mean, how did it feel?” the Bull repeated. “For me, it felt incredible.”

The image of Dorian gasped as the Bull poured the first of the wax over his stomach, slow and careful, tracing a line that would normally consist of rope.

“Seeing you like that, holding yourself still for me, knowing that you trust me to do something that could so easily burn you…”

In the memory, Dorian gasped again as the Bull poured the second stripe. In the now, Dorian settled against him with a contented sigh.

“That’s part of the appeal,” he admitted. “That tiny shock of pain, that moment where the heat sinks under my skin and settles there, knowing that there will be a mark…”

The image showing Dorian moaning, loudly, his feet flexing even as he managed to hold his body more or less still.

“That was the moment I realized that you were using one of your rope patterns,” Dorian told him. He could feel the Bull’s cock hardening against his backside, and the answering heat building in his stomach. “That you were going to take all night with it, and that I would carry the imprint with me beneath my robes all the way back to Minrathous.”

 _I wanted it to be permanent_ , he didn’t say. Too maudlin. They had an entire week to themselves, this time, and though it was already half over, he didn’t want to dwell on their parting just yet.

The Bull loosened his grip a little, one hand trailing down Dorian’s stomach and palming his cock. Dorian arched into the touch. “You like wearing my marks,” he said.

“I love it,” Dorian confessed. It wasn’t much of a confession, but it still felt like one. “I especially love it when they’re from you tying me up.” That was more of a confession.

“I didn’t actually tie you up that time,” the Bull pointed out.

“Didn’t you?” Dorian asked. “You asked me to stay still, and I wanted to be good for you so badly I didn’t move. There may not have been any ropes, but I was bound all the same.”

“Completely at my mercy,” the Bull purred.

“Your mercy comes highly recommended,” Dorian retorted.

“Oh, does it?”

That was all the warning Dorian received before he was flipped over, face down on the bed.

Dorian laughed, searching around for a pillow he might use to retaliate. The Bull stopped him, hunching over his body, and placing his massive hands over Dorian’s.

“Keep them there, kadan?” he asked. It wasn’t an order, it was a request, and an almost tentative one at that.

 _Oh_ , Dorian thought. And then _yes, please_. He nodded.

He kept his hands there, fisting the sheets as he let the Bull arrange his body so that he was on all fours, his legs spread wide to accommodate the Bull’s bulk, his head up and facing the image of himself and the Bull from a year ago.

In the memory, Dorian shuddered as the Bull began pouring the wax down his thighs. He could see the outline of his cock through the smallclothes, the fabric beginning to go sheer with moisture, precome and sweat. In the now, Dorian’s cock twitched in sympathy.

“Can you stay like that, kadan?” Another request Dorian was all too willing to fulfill.

“Of course,” Dorian said. _For you, I can do anything_ , he didn’t say. Too dishonest, no matter how much he might want it to be true.

He held himself still as the Bull worked him open, resisting the urge to rut back against his fingers, to toss his head over his shoulder and smile, to spread his legs even wider in an invitation to hurry up. He looked at the images of himself, covered in ropes of fragile, cooling wax and not moving any more than a tremble as the Bull finished up his pattern, over his crossed wrists.

In the memory, Dorian kept his wrists together as the Bull manhandled him so that he was laying with his head over the edge of the bed. In the now, the Bull pulled out his fingers and thrust in his cock in one long, smooth movement.

“How did it feel?” the Bull asked again.

“Incredible,” Dorian managed to reply. “It felt- it felt so good, you always make me feel so good, Bull, amatus, please, I need-”

As he watched, the Bull open his mouth and thrust sharply in, falling into an easy rhythm of thrusts as he fucked Dorian’s throat. His balls slapped heavily against Dorian’s face, leaving his lips bruised and swollen, his throat and jaw aching from the glorious brutality of it as saliva ran down his face. His voice would be wrecked later, he remember. The Bull leaned over, snagging a vial of oil and slicking his fingers up, slipping them under his small clothes, and then pressing inside as he mouthed at Dorian’s cock through the silk. As he felt, the Bull grabbed him, his short, blunt nails digging into his hips as he pounded into him.

In both the memory and the now, it took Dorian very little time to come.

* * *

“What should we do this time?”

Dorian hummed, stretched, and contemplated pretending that he didn’t know what the Bull was talking about. Each time they managed to be together for more than a few hours, they would spend some of that time making some new recording of themselves, to help tide them over. Some nights, it just made everything seem that much colder, that much crueler. Other nights, being able to see the proof that he had this was all that kept him sane.

“Surprise me, amatus,” he said instead.

The Bull made to protest, but Dorian pressed two of his fingers against his lips to forestall it. “I don’t mean pull anything _new_. Pick something we’ve done before, something we’ve enjoyed, and trust that I’ll use my watchword should it become necessary. Just don’t tell me ahead of time what it’s going to be?”

He hadn’t meant that last sentence to be a question, but he sounded too uncertain, even to his own ears, for it to be anything but.

“Please,” he added, turning around to face the Bull.

The Bull breath left him in a foul-smelling huff. The whole bed stank, really: they’d barely left it the whole week, let alone changed the sheets. It stank, there was dried, flaking come rubbing uncomfortably against his leg, and the poor mattress was probably irreversibly stained despite seen no more than a fortnight’s use in any given year.

It was the little imperfections, Dorian had found, that would fade the fastest, once he was over the border. He would be able to remember the brightness of the Bull’s smile, the curve of his bicep, and even the feel of the jagged scar on his left hip under his tongue for months, but memory of his terrible breath would fall away within days.

“You’ve got it, kadan.”

* * *

Which was how Dorian came to find himself kneeling on the floor, naked and not quite bound: there was leather around his wrists, but it was the loosely-coiled thong the dragon tooth hung from. If he didn’t have the tooth itself clasped tightly between his hands, then it would have provided no restraint at all.

There was no blindfold, this time. He kept his eyes closed because the Bull had asked him to, and because he preferred it that way. It made watching the memory later seem almost new, as though he and the Bull had come together again, if he didn’t see what was happening the first time.

“Open up for me, kadan?” Another question, instead of an order. Dorian rather liked the change. It felt like he was doing more.

He opened his mouth, expecting to taste the Bull’s cock, or his fingers. Instead he tasted rubber: rubber in a very familiar shape, complete with veins and ridges and oh, Maker.

There was a thread of incredulity in that moment- where had the Bull even found someone to make this?- but it was drowned out by the wave of pure desire the coursed through him.

This was a fantasy- one of the silliest self-indulgent fantasies in his very self-indulgent life- of having the Bull in both ends. He’d never spoken of it, as he was fairly certain that any realization would involve an even grosser misuse of magic than they were currently engaging in. Still, leave it to the Bull to divine his unspoken desire and meet him halfway.

“You like that?”

Dorian hummed, shifting further down and tilting his head back. The Bull obligingly pressed the toy- saartoh? Was that the proper Qunlat phrase?- into his throat.

Dorian’s jaw ached. His cock twitched, leaving a little smear of precome on his thighs. It cut off his air, and his head was swimming deliciously, euphoria and arousal bubbling up like uncorked champagne.

The Bull pulled the toy out. Dorian whined; the Bull rumbled, a noise between a laugh and a purr, and pulled Dorian up onto his lap. “Don’t worry, kadan. You’ll have it back soon enough.”

Dorian chuckled, only a little breathlessly. “Worry’s not a word which applies here.”

Dorian wasn’t worried. He was the farthest thing from worried as the Bull slicked his fingers up and pressed them against his entrance. The Bull’s free hand was on his hip, steadying him, encouraging him to bear down, and take in as much as he could.

The moments stretched on, a string of sensations carrying through what now seemed like an infinite span of time: the catch of the Bull’s knuckles against his hole, the crook of his fingers stretching him, the unerring pressure on his prostate, right up until he was in danger of coming.

Some nights, Dorian came and came and came, far more often than he would have thought possible as a teenager, much less as a man who was in the same neighborhood as forty. This was not to be one of those nights, it seemed.

Dorian found it very hard to protest, when the Bull withdrew his fingers only to grab the saartoh from wherever he had placed it. Dorian groaned as he felt it brush against his back as the Bull fumbled for the oil.

“I’ve got you, kadan,” he soothed.

“I certainly hope you intend to have me,” Dorian retorted.

The Bull chuckled. “Does that mean you don’t want the Iron Dragon here?”

He’d named the saartoh. Of course he’d named the saartoh.

“I’d been hoping for both,” Dorian replied, once he’d managed to get the urge to laugh under control.

The Bull kissed him then, his mouth crushing up against Dorian’s. Dorian took that to mean yes, and pressed himself up against the Bull as well as he could, with his hands still bound behind his back and the Bull still fumbling with the saartoh and lubricant.

“Ready, kadan?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” Dorian replied.

The Bull helped him position himself over the toy, spreading his cheeks as he sunk down slowly, inch by inch: the saartoh was stuck to the floor somehow. Dorian could worry about the logistics- and potential damage to the floors- later. Now, now the Bull stood, a laborious process even though the balmy Antivan springtime wasn’t as harsh on his knee as Fereldan had been, and shuffled forwards until he was almost on top of Dorian, straddling him.

The Bull was huge. It was a fact that every knew about him from the moment they first met, but it always struck Dorian anew when he found himself in this position. For all that his eyes remained shut, he could still feel the heat radiating from the Bull’s thighs on either side of his face, and that made the point well enough.

“Can you tilt your head all the way back for me, kadan?”

Dorian did so, and opened his mouth without being asked. He was rewarded when the Bull guided the head of his cock into his mouth. He sucked, flicking his tongue over the slit, then dragging it more slowly over his head. When that failed to elicit a response, he stretched up, the saartoh shifting inside of him.

 _Oh_ , Dorian thought again. He pulled off with a pop and a lazy smile. “Am I supposed to do all the work, amatus?”

“I’d like that,” the Bull replied, carding his fingers through Dorian’s hair and yes. _Yes_.

It was always such an accomplishment, to get the Bull to ask for the things he wanted. Dorian intended to put forth every effort to oblige him.

And it took effort, his legs shaking with it, straining upwards to take as much of the Bull into his mouth as he could, before sinking down, the stretch of the saartoh delicious but distant. This was for the Bull. The way his head swam when he pushed past his gag reflex and held the Bull’s cock in his throat, cheeks hollowed as he sucked, the bitter taste on his tongue as he swirled it around the flare of his cock, the ache in his thighs and his jaw and the corners of his mouth: it was all for the Bull.

When, after the Bull had come and shifted back on the floor, he jerked Dorian off, encouraging him to grind against the saartoh, it seemed almost superfluous.

* * *

Dorian liked doing what the Bull asked of him: he liked the way he could trust that the Bull would appreciate the effort, he liked that the Bull took the effort to ask, when he’d once wanted nothing more than to want nothing for himself, and he liked doing things for the Bull, while he could. While they were together. While the Bull didn’t ask him to stay.

He didn’t quite know what he would do, if the Bull asked him to stay.

No, that was a lie. If the Bull asked him to stay, told him that he needed Dorian to stay, he probably would, just as the Bull would drop everything and come back with him to Tevinter if Dorian asked it of him.

They would do it, but it would make them miserable.

“Do you have your new memory crystal?” the Bull asked instead.

“As though I could leave without it,” Dorian scoffed.


End file.
